


Good Boy, Bad Girl

by MerlinOnAMountain



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, F/M, Not a Serious Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22598992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerlinOnAMountain/pseuds/MerlinOnAMountain
Summary: Oberyn sends his daughter Tyene to spy on the King in the North ahead of a possible Targaryen alliance.Some things change, others stay the same.
Relationships: Tyene Sand/Robb Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Good Boy, Bad Girl

TYENE  


  


"This is risky business," Tyene said frankly, "I like it not."  
  
" _Come on_ , sister," Nym teased while perched on the windowsill overlooking King's Landing, "Where is your sense of _adventure_?"  
  
"Maybe _you_ would like to undertake this adventure, dear _sister_." Tyene glared, with a sweet smile of course.  
  
" _Now, now_ ," father placated, "Your elder sister has many virtues, but subtlety is not one of them."  
  
"About as _subtle_ as a Planky town man-whore," Obera grunted.  
  
" _Children_ ," Elaria chirped in, "Play nice."  
  
"Anyways," Father reigned in the wayward line of dialogue, "This matter requires discretion, needs a subtle touch."  
  
"A _septa's_ touch, perhaps?" Tyene asked dryly.  
  
Father smiled. "Just so, my sweet."  
  


* * *

  
After a fortnight of hard riding to find the Stark host in the heart of the Westerlands and a week of weaseling her way into the healer’s order, Tyene had finally made it in.

The Stark host was ten thousand strong, a third of the Lannister host under Lord Tywin’s command, but morale around the camp was high. And why wouldn’t it be? The Northmen had cut a bloody swath through the lion’s domain, toppling every keep on the way.

Northern success is both a blessing and a curse for the Dornish cause. No Martell will ever weep when Westermen blood is split but the runaway success of the Starks will make a Targaryen alliance difficult.

Tyene sees the direwolf before she sees the wolf king, on the day of her arrival.

Some infantry men assured her that Robb Stark _does not_ ride his direwolf into battle but he might as well. The wolf is the size of a sandsteed and men instinctively sit up straighter when the beast prowls through the camp.

Tyene sees the King in the North three days after she arrived. The master is no less an impressive specimen than his wolf. Robb Stark looks almost Baratheon with his dark hair, broad shoulders and towering height, but carries himself better than any stag in recent history. The king never slouches but he’s not obvious about his bravado in the way lesser men like Mace Tyrell are. There is grace and purpose to the way he makes his rounds around the camp and it makes Tyene suddenly want to _gossip_ with Arianne and Sarella.

But it’s his eyes that are truly stunning, Tyene decides when the King’s eyes meet hers’: vibrant as the summer sky, calm as the deep sea.

  


* * *

  
"You are no septa, are you?" The King in the North saw through Tyene's disguise not five minutes after she had entered his tent.

 _Fuck. Fuck!  
_  
"How- How'd you know?" Tyene stammered but otherwise did not stop treating the shallow wound on Robb Stark's thigh.  
  
Stark smiled on of his small smiles before answering. "Grey Wind," he said simply.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"My wolf," he clarified, "He thinks you're dangerous."  
  
Tyene jerked her head around to look at said wolf. The great grey beast was stretched out on a corner of the tent. When her eyes found its yellow orbs, the direwolf almost seemed to shrug.  
  
_This fucking mammoth of a wolf thinks I'm dangerous?  
_  
"So, what are you?" Robb questioned, suspicious but not unkind.  
  
"Talisa," Tyene blurts out, "Talisa of Norvos, a healer."  
  


* * *

“This is going to sting,” Tyene informed as she heated the iron over a tent fire.

“It’s going to do far worse than just _sting_ ,” Robb japed but the fear was clear in his eyes. The round arrow wound on his arm had stopped bleeding for the moment but Tyene would need to sear it shut for the effect to be permanent.

  


Tyene rolled her eyes.

  


“Close your eyes,” Tyene ordered, “And tell me a story.”

  


Robb turned to her in confusion at first but did as told anyways. “What tale would you like to hear?” Robb asked with shut eyes.

  


_It doesn’t matter,_ Tyene wanted to tell him _, just keep talking, it’ll distract you from the pain._

  


“Tell me of your home,” Tyene said after a moment of consideration, “Tell me of Winterfell.”

  


Robb kept quiet for a moment and then smiled slightly.

  


“It’s a castle unlike any other. It’s build by Brandon Stark, the first of my line. The tomes call him Bran the Builder, for he’s believed to have built a great many things, Winterfell, of course, and Storm’s End, the Baratheon seat in the Stormlands. But his crowning achievement is a seven hundred feet monstrosity built from sheer ice, stretching almost seven hundred feet into the sky and across the entire breath of the continent Folk call it _the Wall_.”

  


“The Wall, huh?” Tyene chuckled, “All you Northerners are shite at naming things.”

  


“Northerner?” Robb teased, “You speak as though you’ve from Dorne or something.”

  


_Gods damn it._ Tyene was slipping and she _never_ slipped. _Gods damn Robb Stark._

“Enough. I thought I told you to talk of Winterfell, not your forefather’s accomplishments.”

  


“Alright then,” Robb started again, “I’ll just tell you the important bits. First of all, the keep itself, there’s copper pipes running inside the thick stone walls. The pipes carry hot spring water and keep the inside warm even during a snowstorm. There’s hot springs outside too, if you’re brave enough to make it through the woods. Speaking of – “

Tyene’s red hot poker meets the Robb’s pale skin and the Wolf King lets out a howl.

* * *

  


“Tell me of Norvos,” Robb said the next time Tyene went into his tent. His recent foray into sheep stealing proved fruitful but one especially dedicated herding hound had managed to land a solid bite on Robb’s calf (before being torn to shreds by Grey Wind).

It’s not an unreasonable request and Tyene would have gladly indulged him if not for that fact _that she’s never actually been to Norvos._

“Lisa?”

_Well, it’s not like Robb’s been to Norvos either._

So, Tyene spoke long into the night about the faraway Free City, her supposed homeland. If Robb noticed that her account of Norvos matched the descriptions of the Water Gardens of Dorne almost exactly, he does not mention it.

* * *

  


  
Were he not waging a bloody war against Tywin fucking Lannister, Tyene could almost believe that Robb Stark was getting these minor wounds on purpose, just to spite her.  
  
She's been in his tent more times than she can count, _more times than she planned to_ , honestly. Tyene's already got a good measure of Robb's character and it's high time she had left the Stark host.

  
But for some reason, she stays.  
  
She stays and falls steadily deeper for this boy king, six years her younger but with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  
Most days, they talk about their siblings. Robb is a gifted storyteller and Tyene can almost imagine the frost covered wolfswood in his stories although she's never seen snow in her life. In turns, she tells of her own stories, of the Water Gardens, about her sisters and cousins. The names are faked but the stories are real as is her fondness when recalling them.

  


Tyene discovers than beneath his honor and duty, Robb Stark is just a young man - no, a boy – with a heart of gold. Something Tyene Sand - the most treacherous even among the Sand Snakes- should not be attracted to. And she’s loath to admit that her feelings might have already surpassed mere attraction long ago.

  
It also does not help that Robb Stark is fatally handsome, with vibrant blue eyes and auburn hair with curls that are wasted on a man.  
  


_Fuck it all.  
_

* * *

  
Robb grunted in complaint once again. "What's with you today, Lisa? Your stitches hurt worse than the cut itself."  
  
"If it hurts, it means it’s _working_." Tyene replied sweetly as she makes the last stitch particularly deep, for better healing of course.  
  
"Ugh. You're _brutal_."  
  
"And you're _whining like a child_." Tyene bit back with more venom than intended.  
  
Robb, perceptive as always, notices her agitation.  
  
"Are you... alright?" He asked with a concerned tone.  
  
Tyene had been dallying too long in the Stark host. Father does not usually meddle in her business but this time he did. On the morn, one of Tyene's contacts pressed a cyphered letter into her hand, calling her back to King's Landing.  
  
"I'm fine." She said dismissively as she began to gather her things to make a quick escape from the king's tent.  
  
"Are you... leaving?"  
  
As per usual, Robb hits the mark with his question.  
  
_I suppose there's no harm in revealing this much.  
_  
"Yes," Tyene replied with a tight smile, "My family has found out my whereabouts and summoned me back."  
  
Robb Stark looked crestfallen and in turn, it made Tyene's chest constrict painfully.  
  
"And you're going to comply?"  
  
"Why wouldn't I?"  
  
"I-I don't know," Robb replied, suddenly devoid of his usual confidence. "You could stay."  
  
"And do _what_?" Tyene demanded bitterly, "Wile away my days tending to your wounds?"  
  
In the back of her mind, Tyene realized that's she'll regret it if she does not stop speaking but for the life in her, she cannot stop the next few words from slipping out. "Or do you perhaps wish to keep me as your _paramour_?"  
  
Robb recoiled as if he'd been slapped. The look in his river blue eyes is pure guilt and shame. "I would never -"  
  
"Spare me the excuses," Tyene cut him off; "I've seen the way look at me."  
  
_I look at you in much the same way.  
_  
Robb took a long, deep breath. "I'll never dishonor you, my lady." He said it with true conviction, his hard face devoid of distress but eyes a tumultuous sea of sadness.  
  
"Then there's nothing to discuss, is there?" Tyene hurried to get out of the tent that suddenly felt suffocating but Robb stopped her.

  


“Wait,” Robb said in a resigned tone, his eyes now calm as still water, _sad still water_.

  


He fished out something from his trunk and with quick strides, closed the distance between them. He took her hand with his own and dropped the object in Tyene’s palm.

It was a silver signet ring with the engraving of a snarling direwolf with blue sapphire shards for its eyes. The engravings on the band were faded with age but she could still make out ‘ _Cregan’._

_It’s the ring of Lord Cregan Stark, of Dance of Dragons fame; a priceless family heirloom and not a gift for one’s lady, or even one’s camp healer for that matter._

“Robb, I can’t accept this.”

Tyene does not realize until much later that she had called the king by his name but social impropriety was the furthest thing from her mind at that moment.

“Yes you can and it would make me very happy if you do.”

His smile was brittle and in turn, it made Tyene’s eyes feel hot. _What is this boy doing to me?_

“Why?” She asked meekly.

“No reason,” he lied, “I just want you to keep it.”

“I’ll fling this ring from the highest cliffs in this kingdom if you don’t tell me the truth, _right now_.” Tyene threatened. Thankfully her voice sounded much stronger than she felt inside.

Robb sighed and sighed again. “I shouldn’t be telling you this but…” He sighed again but a sharp look got him to continue, “But we shall be ambushing the second Lannister host at Oxcross on the night after the morrow. Scouts say they have thirty thousand men in that camp, more than thrice the men with me.”

“But you’ve won every battle until now,” Tyene tried to encourage Robb (and convince herself).

“Every commander wins until he doesn’t,” Robb said sagely, “And luck is a fickle mistress. She’ll be the first to desert if the Lannisters rally. And anyhow, if it’s not the next battle, it might be the one after that. And even if I make it alive, it’s unlikely we’ll ever see each other again. I rather you had something to remember me by in Norvos, or wherever it is you’re going.”

Tyene stared at Robb for a long time. His sad blue eyes, fond smile, the light flush of his cheeks, the smell of smoke and pinewood; she took it all in and committed it to memory.

Then she reached up and pressed her lips to his. It was a chaste kiss, and she’s kissed stable boys deeper than this, but it felt like she was allowing Robb into every fiber of her being just through that little bit of contact.

“Thank you,” she said finally.

Tomorrow, Tyene will leave for the capitol. She’ll inform her father that Robb Stark is no bloodthirsty warlord or glory seeker. He’s reasonable enough to kneel to the dragon queen in exchange for his sisters, that he’s so obviously loves and cares for. And if all goes well, they’ll meet again but he’ll be Robb Stark, the indomitable Lord of Winterfell and she’ll be Tyene Sand, just a treacherous bastard of no import.

Whatever she feels, they feel, must end now.

This kiss will have to be enough.

* * *

It’s not enough, _not nearly enough._

Tyene slipped into Robb’s tent on the eve of the battle. The king opened his mouth to say something but forgot to close it when Tyene stripped out of her clothes with practiced ease. Naked as her nameday, the bastard strode up to the king and dragged him to his tent bed.

Robb Stark had lost his breeches by the time he fully registers what’s happening, so entranced he is in her soft blonde strands and silken skin.

“We shouldn’t!” Robb protested weakly when Tyene straddled him and started to guide his throbbing cock into her cunt, “I shouldn’t.”

“O please,” Tyene chastised, “I’m no maid for you to deflower. I’ve been with dozens of men.”

She does not wait for his response. The king resigned to his fate when his entire length was sheathed inside Tyene in one swift plunge. But before he starts moving, Robb simply asked, “Why?”

“Never had a King before,” Tyene said simply.

Robb rested his warm hands on her hip. Then he smiled a little.

“You’re not doing this because of my crown, or my name,” Robb whispered.

“You are so sure?” Tyene retorted, trying to sound haughty but the question sounded desperate to her own ears.

“Yes.”

  


* * *

“You’re still here,” Robb gasped when Tyene entered his tent after the King in the North returned victorious once more.

“In the flesh,” Tyene responded wryly as she set about doing her task as a healer. He does not inquire any further and for that, she is glad. She had no excuses to give him this time. Tyene stayed because she wanted to stay but she couldn’t tell him that, could she?

Robb’s injuries were minor this time around attesting to the reports that it had been a complete rout for the Lannisters. Other than a few nicks, the king looked well enough.

 _Well enough to fuck at least,_ Tyene noted hungrily.

A hot bath is drawn for Robb and the king soaked in the water after shrugging off his clothes and armor. This time, there is no complaint when Tyene joined him in the bath. She feels the hard muscles of his chest rippling against her shoulder blades and his prick insistent against her derrière. With little trouble, she guides him inside her.

Robb’s hands find her breasts and her core and his fingers do their magic. But otherwise, the king makes no movement.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” He confessed.

“Flattering, but right now, that’s not-”

“No, you don’t understand,” Robb insisted, “I thought about you when I first laid eyes upon the immense Lannister camp, I thought about you when a sea of red cloaks flooded out of their gilded pavilions, when arrows rained down on me from every which way. And at the battle’s end, when Ser Stafford made a desperate charge straight for me, all I could think about was how I’d never see you again.”

The arousal, the fire had all but left Tyene, and in its place, a new type of warmth arose from within her bosom, a warmth that she did not want to acknowledge but was desperate for at the same time.

 _Stop speaking, you fool._ She wanted to say.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Robb said anyways.

“Good to know,” Tyene said evenly. She would have already bolted out the tent were she not sharing a bath with the lover boy. She had only herself to blame for her current predicament.

Robb sighed when he realized she wouldn’t say anything more. But far from retreating, the King committed to a full frontal assault.

“Will you marry me?” Robb asked quietly.

This is not at all how Tyene imagined being proposed to, if they ever imagined it in the first place. Even in Dorne, a bastard’s highest prospect is the station of exclusive paramour to some lord or lady, and in Ellaria’s case, a prince. And now, Tyene was in a tub with the King in the North, in the middle of an army, being offered a crown.

_‘Queen Tyene Stark’ does have a nice ring to it._

But it was not to be.

Tyene wanted to decline his offer with a firm ‘no’, but what she planned as an outright refusal came out as only a strangled gasp.

“Robb, I’m…” - a bastard - “… not from Norvos,” Tyene protested, hating how weak she shouted.

“You’re from Dorne,” Robb said simply. “A daughter of the Red Viper. My men caught your contact, the travelling cobbler. Lost his bravado when the headsman made him kneel before a block. Named the Dornish prince to save his hide.”

Gods! That was more than a week ago and Tyene did not even realize that Robb had an inkling as to who she was. Either Robb had more guile than he let on, or Tyene was too busy mooning over him to notice.

“And you believed him?”

Robb shrugged. “It becomes rather obvious when you already know it. Who else would have the audacity to _scold_ a king, other than the Red Viper’s brood.”

“Robb, I’m a bastard,” Tyene tried again.

“You’ll be whatever you I say you are. Lady Talisa of Norvos, kin to Doran Martell’s wife or maybe some ancient Valyrian house from the far east and none will be the wiser.”

“And when they find out?”

Robb smiled wickedly, “By then, it will be too late.”

“What about your Frey girl?”

Robb groaned. “Do you _not_ want to marry a king?”

“You think I’ll fall in your bed just because of your crown?” Tyene demanded, offended.

“No,” Robb replied easily, “Not because of my crown, _in spite of it._ Besides, you’ve already _fallen into my bed_ and more. I want you to marry me because the alternative is more frightening than death itself.”

_I’ll never hear the end of this._

“Ah, fuck it,” Tyene surrendered, “I’ll marry you, just fuck me already.”

Robb’s prick which has turned flaccid during their little heart to heart, hardened as if on cue.

“As you command _, my queen._ ”

* * *

Tyene tells Robb her name mere minutes before they’re wedded in a small roadside sept and she smacks him when he comments that ‘Tyene’ sounds a lot like ‘Tywin’.

Lady Catelyn Stark finds out first, her eyes growing progressively wider as Robb lays the truth on her. First there is rage, then resignation.

“I suppose we can’t count a Dornish alliance,” Lady Catelyn said helplessly, once her rage subsided.

“No, my dowry does not include ten thousand Dornish spears;” Tyene replied truthfully, “But a Targaryen alliance is quite possible.”

She smiles when Robb turned to her sharply.

**Author's Note:**

> This Tyene is not the one in the show. I've based her on what little the books say of her. 
> 
> As for her looks, Tyene's got shoulder length, pale blonde hair and blue eyes. She's also older than show canon, about six years Robb's senior, although looks younger than she is. (Look up Tyene Sand by Bella Bergolts). As for her personality, she's treacherous, honor-less but loyal to her own.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
